THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


&2.1 

KG>2.roaL 


KIPLING’S  VERSES 

MINIATURE  SERIES 


MANDALAY 


KIPLING’S  VERSES 

MINIATURE  SERIES 

MANDALAY 


GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y.,  AND  TORONTO 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  & COMPANY 
1921 


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COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF 
TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 
INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


MANDALAY 


MANDALAY 


BY  THE  old  Moulmein 
Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward 
to  the  sea, 

There's  a Burma  girl  a-settin’, 
and  I know  she  thinks  o'  me; 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees, 
and  the  temple-bells  they  say : 
“Come  you  back,  you  British 
soldier;  come  you  back  to 
Mandalay!" 


[3] 


Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay: 
Can’t  you  ’ear  their  paddles 
chunkin’  from  Rangoon  to 
Mandalay? 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin’-fishes  play, 
An’  the  dawn  comes  up  like 
thunder  outer  China  ’crost 
the  Bay! 


[4] 


'Er  petticoat  was  yaller  an'  'er 
little  cap  was  green, 

An’  'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat — 
jes'  the  same  as  Theebaw's 
Queen, 

An'  I seed  her  first  a-smokin'  of  a 
whackin'  white  cheroot, 

An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on 
an  'eathen  idol's  foot: 

Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 

Wot  they  called  the  Great 
Gawd  Budd — 

Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols 
when  I kissed  'er  where  she 
stud! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay.  . . 


[5] 


When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice- 
fields  an'  the  sun  was  drop- 
pin'  slow, 

She'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she'd 
sing  “ Kulla-lo-lo  /*' 

With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder 
an'  'er  cheek  agin  my  cheek 
We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an' 
the  hathis  pilin'  teak. 
Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 
In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 
Where  the  silence  'ung  that 
'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid  to 
speak! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay.  . . 


[6] 


But  that’s  all  shove  be’ind  me — 
long  ago  an’  fur  away, 

An’  there  ain’t  no  ’busses  runnin’ 
from  the  Bank  to  Mandalay; 

An’  I’m  learnin’  ’ere  in  London 
what  the  ten-year  soldier 
tells: 

“If  you’  Ve  ’eard  the  East 
a-callin’,  you  won’t  never 
’eed  naught  else.” 

No!  you  won’t  ’eed  nothin’  else 
But  them  spicy  garlic  smells, 
An’  the  sunshine  an’  the  palm- 
trees  an’  the  tinkly  temple- 
bells; 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  . . . 


[ 7] 


ifHMMmrim 


I am  sick  o’  wastin’  leather  on 
these  gritty  pavin’-stones, 

An’  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle 
wakes  the  fever  in  my  bones; 

’Tho’  I walks  with  fifty  ’ouse- 
maids  outer  Chelsea  to  the 
Strand, 

An’  they  talks  a lot  o’  lovin’, 
but  wot  do  they  under- 
stand? 

Beefy  face  an’  grubby  ’and — 

Law!  wot  do  they  understand? 

I’ve  a neater,  sweeter  maiden 
in  a cleaner,  greener  land! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  . . . 


[8] 


Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez, 
where  the  best  is  like  the 
worst, 

Where  there  are  n’t  no  Ten  Com- 
mandments an’  a man  can 
raise  a thirst; 

For  the  temple-bells  are  callin’, 
an’  it’s  there  that  I would 
be — 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda, 
looking  lazy  at  the  sea; 


[9] 


l\  \>  \\  AM  » 


/ 


On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 
With  our  sick  beneath  the  awn- 
ings when  we  went  to  Man- 
dalay! 

O the  road  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An’  the  dawn  comes  up  like 
thunder  outer  China  ’crost 
the  Bay! 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


